A long time ago, though I don’t remember when, I said to someone:
“Kaanch ki gurya hoti tou ab tak toot chuki hoti.*”
I survived my childhood, I survived my teens. I survived the death of my relationship with B. I’m a survivor. I assumed that meant I was made of steel.
But some of us dolls are really just tempered glass.
–27/12/2012–
*”If I were a glass doll, I’d be broken by now.”
I remember the first time, the very first time I held her in my arms. It was a rainy night. The glow of pale moonlight mixed with the distant golden lights of a party hall. It felt like they all stood still, quiet and respectful: a make-believe sun and the moon, cloud-framed stars and a tree in the misty curtain of rain. It felt like the whole world was watching, waiting, shielding us from unkind eyes. And in the center of the world, there she was. I looked down and beheld her in my arms. Beheld her, really, this…wondrous being, amazing, unlike anything or anyone. And I remember thinking, magic. Magic, and the light of the sun and the moon and the stars and the rain enveloping her. Here she was, wrapped in the universe. And in my arms. How? How could I be so lucky?
–27/12/2012–
You feel yourself sinking, a most peculiar kind of defeat. Despair wraps itself around you, your most constant lover. It falls upon you, a heavy blanket of darkness, and muffles your sobs. It cleaves to your form, separating your tears from your skin. And slowly, it winds its way in, slipping in through your pores, working deeper and darker till it weaves itself into your heart and you can’t tell where it ends or where you begin.
–27/12/2012–
